Nothing To Be Sorry For
by DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: Ukitake Jūshirō climbs up to the top of a mountain to watch the sunset with his lover, Kyoraku Shunsui. But no matter how extraordinary any sunset might be, the air is thin on mountaintops. Set when Jūshirō and Shunsui are young, and newly lovers. Before Shunsui knows the full extent of Jūshirō's illness, and before Jūshirō knows how to say "no" to the man he loves.
"See what I mean? Wouldja look at that!"

Sunset, and the earth is bathed in a glow of golden light. Up here in the mountains, that light touches everything. The new-fallen snow reflects its radiance, and it washes over Kyoraku Shunsui, whose arms are spread wide and whose face tilts up towards the heavens. Shunsui smiles, an honest, open, carefree smile. "It's like I told ya, Jū, " he says. "It's really somethin', isn't it?"

Ukitake Jūshirō can only nod faintly in response, struck dumb by the majesty of this place. The trees sway as a quiet breeze blows, and Jūshirō hugs himself tight, admiring their ancient, frost-covered boughs. _How long have these trees been here?_ he wonders. _How many men have stood beneath them, as I do now, trembling in awe of their beauty and strength?_ Snow falls from the branches in tiny, sparkling swirls, and Jūshirō watches, transfixed. The little particles float down in front of his face, and for a moment, they wrap Jūshirō in a gold-tinged cloak of snow specks and light. Jūshirō longs to close his eyes and breathe them in. _If only._

"This… this is extraordinary," Jūshirō finally says. "Thank you for bringing me here." And Jūshirō smiles too, his face a pale mirror of Shunsui's. He realizes that, all told, he's quite proud of himself. The climb up to the mountaintop was long and hard, and, despite the chill in the air, Jūshirō's white hair sticks to his damp forehead, the exertion almost – almost, but not quite – more than his body could bear. But Shunsui hadn't heard him cough even once. Jūshirō had made absolutely sure of that.

"It's my pleasure, Jū – really," replies Shunsui, in that friendly, easygoing tone of his. "I'm glad you like it. I figured you would. And, _man_ , I can't _believe_ ," he continues, "that you've never stood on top of a mountain before. Seems like it'd be right up your alley, ya know?"

"We led very different childhoods," Jūshirō says carefully. He takes two slow steps forward to meet Shunsui, and he hears the snow crunch under his boots. "My… my family was poor, Shunsui. You know that. We couldn't afford to take weekend trips to the seaside, or to the mountains. We…" he trails off, considering. "We survived," he says. "We loved each other, and I was happy. But we survived."

"Huh. Maybe so," says Shunsui. "But you've been on your own for a while now, haven't ya? I remain stunned, Jūshirō, that this is your first time on a mountaintop." Shunsui knits his fingers behind his head and stares out across the scene. The sun has sunk lower; the light is deep orange now. "I love this place," he muses. "A roof is one thing, ya know? A mountain, though… well. A mountain's a whole 'nother experience."

Jūshirō brushes a lock of hair away from his face. "It's peaceful," he says. "I understand why you spoke so highly of it."

"Peaceful," repeats Shunsui, raising one dark eyebrow, "sure. Sure, it's peaceful. Sure, it gets you away from your troubles for a little while and lets you stand high, high above 'em. And don't get me wrong, that's worthwhile. But… something about these mountains puts me in my place. Don't – don't you just feel small up here, Jū?"

"Perhaps. Though I – " Jūshirō's chest tightens for the briefest of moments. Jūshirō pauses, and he is calm, patient – and he waits – _Did Shunsui notice?_ – and it passes. "I've felt small my whole life, Shunsui," Jūshirō says. "I don't need the mountains to remind me of that. I like the peace."

"And to think," says Shunsui, turning to Jūshirō with a sly grin, "I had to practically beg you to hike up here with me." Shunsui's unshaven face gleams in the light of the sunset. _Beautiful_ , thinks Jūshirō again, but not about the mountains this time.

Shunsui and Jūshirō are friends; that fact is undeniable, and they've agreed as much with words on several separate occasions. But as of recently, they are lovers, too; that fact is just as undeniable, and they've agreed as much with their actions time and time again. Jūshirō has never been anyone's lover before, not regularly, not properly, not like this. He never truly imagined that – his chest tightens briefly again – _no, not now, just a bit longer_ – he never truly imagined that he would have the privilege of calling another his lover, of being a lover himself. Not someone like him. Jūshirō is perfectly kind, yes, and he has his fair share of charisma, he knows, but he is thin and white-haired and frail. Not attractive at all in _that_ way, Jūshirō believes. He is the kind of person one keeps as a friend, not a…

But right now, somehow, in spite of all odds, Jūshirō is here with Shunsui.

 _No_ , Jūshirō amends – he is with Shunsui, his lover.

Right now, that's enough.

Feeling bold, Jūshirō slips a hand around Shunsui's waist, and Shunsui chuckles contentedly, reciprocating the gesture by laying his muscular arm across Jūshirō's slender shoulders. "Well, well," laughs Shunsui, "I see how it is, Jū. Tell you what – you keep your peace. Just as long as I can keep you."

Jūshirō feels bolder still. "You know that you can, Shunsui," he says softly. And he places the gentlest of kisses on Shunsui's cheek.

They stand like that for a long time, gazing together at the mountains and the setting sun. They do not speak – there is no need. The sun sets behind the snow-covered peaks, and the stars begin to emerge one by one. _How lucky I am_ , thinks Jūshirō, and he catches himself grinning like a complete fool. _The mountains, the trees, this snow. This peace. And Shunsui…_ he leans into the strong body holding him and sighs, content.

The warmth of the sun fades quickly, and before long, the thin mountain air turns cold. Jūshirō shivers, and Shunsui pulls him closer, his rough hands running up and down, over Jūshirō's arms and back. "You all right, Jū?" Shunsui asks. From anyone else, the question would be wary, pointed – but from Shunsui, Jūshirō knows, it is merely a mild inquisition. From Shunsui, remarks Jūshirō, a little more bitterly than he'd like, the question doesn't translate to _Jūshirō, are you – are you dying?_ No. From Shunsui, it simply means _Say, Jūshirō – are you cold?_

"Yes," says Jūshirō, "much better than all right." He wants to say more. He wants to tell Shunsui of the way his heart is full to bursting with love and amazement and sheer, sheer joy, of how grateful he is to have found his beloved Shunsui in the first place. But the next breath that Jūshirō takes is ragged, halting. Jūshirō can't form words around it – _Damn –_ and a small cough escapes him. Shunsui's hand tightens on his shoulder. Jūshirō hangs his head. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm _sorry."_

"What the hell are you sorry for, Jū?"

Jūshirō hesitates. He has no way of telling Shunsui – he's not sure he wants Shunsui to know – but it is for Shunsui's love alone that he risked the exertion of the hike, the high altitude. Jūshirō had been worried. He knew that all sorts of people had trouble catching their breath up in the mountains, let alone someone like him, but for Shunsui's smile, Jūshirō would risk the world. "I…" he says, his usual eloquence failing.

"Hey." Shunsui takes Jūshirō's head in his hands, tracing his friend's jawline with his calloused thumbs. "Don't be sorry. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for, you got that, Jūshirō?"

Shunsui's lips are on Jūshirō's before Jūshirō can even consider responding. Briefly, ever so briefly, Jūshirō returns the kiss, green eyes shutting impulsively with longing and disbelief. He gasps. _No._ He tries to speak his lover's name – _"Shunsui" –_ because he knows what comes next, but he is too slow. Jūshirō shakes. His chest heaves, and the coughs rip through him, and all he can do is fall, fall, _fall –_ he crashes to the ground, knees slamming abruptly into that blanket of snow – _it's not as soft as it looks_ , Jūshirō thinks, dazed. "No," he hears himself cry, shocked and angry at the faintness of his voice, "no, no, _no_ , not _here_ , not _now_."

Jūshirō does not know how long it takes for the coughs to stop. Minutes? Hours? It feels like an eternity. He feels the damp and the cold bleeding through his clothes as he lays there in the snow, face up and lopsided. He feels warmth beneath his head, which, unbeknownst to him for now, Shunsui cradles in his lap. And somewhere amid the pain, Jūshirō realizes that he feels hands, those rough, strong hands – _Shunsui's hands_ – stroking his hair, caressing his cheek, and eventually, slipping underneath his robe to splay firmly on his trembling ribs. "Take it easy, Jū," comes a voice. _Shunsui's voice._ "Just breathe easy, okay?" Jūshirō sighs weakly. He savors the warmth of Shunsui's touch, bare skin on bare skin, and he presses upwards into it as much as he dares. He fills his body with air once, twice – slowly, slowly – and the hands rise and fall against him with the movement. "Easy now, Jū," murmurs Shunsui. "I've got you. Easy, now."

Jūshirō opens his mouth to speak, to express to Shunsui his extraordinary gratitude, but all he can manage is a feeble gasp and a twitch of the lips. "Easy, Jū," Shunsui says again. _It isn't fair_ , thinks Jūshirō, tremendously frustrated, _that he can't ever know how much this means to me. That just when he deserves my thanks the most, I can't speak the words._ Jūshirō stares up at Shunsui through half-lidded eyes. _Please,_ he prays, _let him see what this means to me. Somehow, let him see._

Deep grey eyes meet green, and Shunsui offers his lover a small smile. _Thank you_ , Jūshirō thinks fervently. The wind, once so subtle and kindly, whispers across the mountaintop again, and Jūshirō becomes very quickly aware of just how cold he is.

The only warmth here is Shunsui; the only saving grace here is Shunsui. Shunsui's hands burn on Jūshirō's chest. A shred of his former boldness returning, Jūshirō, still gazing at Shunsui, slips his own hands underneath his robe to rest atop those of his lover. Surprise crosses Shunsui's face. "You're like ice, Jū," he exclaims, genuine concern breaking into his voice for the first time, and he moves to pull his hands away, to – to do _something_ , though it occurs to Shunsui that he has no idea what.

Jūshirō shakes his head. A burst of strength fills him and he grips Shunsui's hands tight. Shunsui's fingers relax, and they spread out once more across Jūshirō's ribcage. "You're –" begins Jūshirō, and then he laughs, a broken, unconstrained little laugh, ecstatic that his voice has returned to him. "You're. Like. _Fire._ "

"Ahh, _Jūshirō_ ," says Shunsui, relief marking his own features. "My Jūshirō. You're gonna be all right." Shunsui says this more for himself than for his lover. Jūshirō knows it, but Jūshirō doesn't mind; people have talked to him this way since he was three years old. "Still," continues Shunsui, "you're awfully cold, Jū. You… you wouldn't mind if I…?"

Shunsui lets the question hang in the night air. All while keeping his right hand steadfastly fixed on Jūshirō's still-shuddering chest, Shunsui sidles lengthwise next to Jūshirō and manages to slide his left arm and left leg underneath Jūshirō's body, propping him up so that he now only barely touches the snow. The two men lay face-to-face. Jūshirō's heart skips a beat as he stares at Shunsui, and he lets out another small laugh, certain that Shunsui's right hand felt it happen.

Removed slightly from the cold ground and with Shunsui's arms wrapped around him, Jūshirō does feel warmer. His breathing grows more regular. His smile softens. Shunsui's hand travels along his ribcage. Then, with the tip of his forefinger, he begins to trace each of Jūshirō's ribs individually. The gesture catches Jūshirō off guard. It is the single most intimate thing Jūshirō has ever experienced. He blinks at Shunsui, scarcely daring to believe what is happening. Each time he brushes Jūshirō's ribs, Shunsui seems to be saying, _I know you're sick, my love. I know. I know you always will be. But I don't care. I love you, and I don't care._

It's as if Shunsui has read his lover's mind. Aloud, he says, "I wouldn't change a thing, Jū."

The rest of the night is a blur to Jūshirō. Jūshirō kisses Shunsui, a fully-bloomed, impassioned kiss, and before long, the two are tangled up in each other, a mess of and limbs and snow and thanks and love. Jūshirō remembers his robe falling open, remembers Shunsui kneeling on top of him, eyes wide, admiring Jūshirō's pale body in the starlight. Shunsui can't seem to keep those burning hands of his off of Jūshirō. _How was I ever cold before?_ wonders Jūshirō, trails of heat from Shunsui's fingertips lingering on his skin.

The contact builds. The heat rises. Shunsui's robe is open now too, and all Jūshirō can think about is Shunsui's dark, muscular torso pressing up against him, small curls of brown hair tickling his chest. Hungry kisses thrust upwards, burying deep into Jūshirō's exposed throat. The heat rises still. They rock back and forth in perfect synchronicity, gathering speed, each man heedless of the snow, each man heedless of everything save for his lover. _Lover_ , thinks Jūshirō again, and yet another smile splits his face. Still the heat rises – still they rock – _Lover,_ thinks Jūshirō – the heat – they rock – _Beautiful,_ thinks Jūshirō – _Shunsui_ , thinks Jūshirō – and the heat, the heat, the _heat_ – Jūshirō _burns_ , burns for Shunsui, burns with happiness, with love – the heat, the heat, the _heat_ – the ghosts of bygone fingertips tingle on each of Jūshirō's ribs – _Shunsui_ , he thinks, _Shunsui, Shunsui –_ then aloud, _"Shunsui!"_ he rasps – Jūshirō does not know how many times his lover's name escapes his lips, nor does he know how many times he hears Shunsui cry his own – _"Ohh,_ _Jūshirō!_ " – the heat rises, rises, _rises_ – and then –

After, they lay together on the frozen ground, tracing delicate lines on each other's skin, kissing and caressing and clinging to each other for warmth. The stars gleam above; their eyes gleam below.

"Shunsui?" says Jūshirō, making small circles on his lover's temple with two fingers.

"Mmm?"

"I meant it. I'm glad you brought me here."

"Jū," says Shunsui, uncharacteristically serious, "you don't have to – "

Jūshirō stops him with a kiss. "I meant it," he says again.

Shunsui looks askance, and Jūshirō feels him tense ever so slightly. "I – I'm sorry, Jū," he says. "I shoulda realized. I was stupid. I didn't think. With the thin air up here and all…" As if of its own accord, one of his hands moves again to settle on Jūshirō's ribs.

"Shunsui."

"Mmm." Shunsui still does not look at Jūshirō.

"Don't be sorry." That gets him – his grey eyes snap upwards and his lips part in surprise. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry for. All right, Shunsui?"

"Jūshirō…"

"All right?" A long moment passes. Shunsui says nothing. "Shunsui. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me. What you do for me. Every - every time, Shunsui. I - I will _never_ be able to thank you enough. Never. That you've chosen to love a man like me - "

"I didn't choose, Jūshirō."

Jūshirō wavers. "What?"

"I just… do. I didn't choose to love you, Jūshirō. I just _do._ " Shunsui gives Jūshirō's cold nose a sweet, little kiss, and Jūshirō, unable to help himself, giggles like a schoolboy. "And cut that 'man like me' crap, all right? You're a catch. I'm a total idiot, and you're a catch."

"You're crazy," says Jūshirō, still laughing.

"Crazy about _you_ , darlin'" Shunsui replies, without missing a beat.

"No," Jūshirō says, rolling his eyes affectionately at Shunsui, "just plain old crazy."

Shunsui shrugs. "I'll take it."

After a time, they fall asleep beneath the stars, still entwined in each other's arms. Twice during the night, Jūshirō wakes, shuddering and racked by savage coughs, and each time, Shunsui is there, strong hands at the ready, promises of selflessness and care and love evident in each small stroke of his fingers. Each time, Shunsui holds Jūshirō until Jūshirō's breathing eases, keeps Jūshirō safe in his warm embrace until Jūshirō sleeps again.

And eventually, sunrise. Jūshirō wakes. Red light now, he sees. The early morning beams dance across Shunsui's sleeping face. _Across my lover's face_. He stares fondly at Shunsui. Shunsui, his friend. Shunsui, whose hands, even in sleep, have not broken contact with Jūshirō's weak body for so much as an instant. Shunsui, who will always give of himself to Jūshirō. Shunsui, whose mouth hangs half-open as he snores under the mountaintop sunrise.

Shunsui, who loves him.

 _Beautiful_ , thinks Jūshirō.


End file.
